


The World I Know (Is Crashing Down)

by amberguessa, notsodarling



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberguessa/pseuds/amberguessa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsodarling/pseuds/notsodarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur didn't know Cobb incepted Mal… but now he does…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on livejournal last December (under the name 'notsokungfu'), but I wanted to get it moved over here.

It’s been three months since the Fischer job, since they’ve done the impossible.

     

 _“You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling.”_

It’s been two months since he and Eames have taken their relationship to the “next level.”

     

 _“What the hell does that even mean, Eames?”_

It’s been one month since they agreed to take this job.

     

 _“Cobb, are you sure you’re ready to get back in the game?”_

All this Arthur knows to be true. He knows he’s in reality, but there’s something nagging him. There’s something deep inside him that won’t be pressed down, won’t be silenced. It was something Cobb had said, or rather had failed to say, that day on Saito’s private jet.

     

 _“I’ve done it before.”  
     “Who’d you do it to?”_

 _Now, sitting at his desk, Arthur can’t remember why he hadn’t pressed the issue. It wasn’t like him to not know details, to ignore something this important. Wasn’t it Arthur’s job as Cobb’s Point Man to know everything? Had he not pushed the issue because he trusted Cobb? It was true that, in the time between Mal’s death and Cobb finally returning home, he’d let more slide than he was comfortable with under normal circumstances, but had he really had an option while trying to keep Cobb from falling apart?_

 _This was the first time Arthur had time to think about it, the first time in over two years he had time to question the things that didn’t add up, following your best friend around the world, performing inception, and starting a serious relationship doesn’t leave much time for reflection. Arthur remembers how one day, Mal had been herself - cheery, beautiful and full of that spark that kept Arthur on his toes, the spark that had made him fall, just a little bit, in love with her- and only days later, something had changed. It was like the life had gone out of her eyes, as if something in her had changed, the flame in her had been snuffed, and Arthur hadn’t found a way to ask about it until… well, until it had been too late._

 _  
_“Hello? Cobb? Cobb! What’s going on? What’s happened?”  
          “It’s Mal. Oh, god, she jumped, Arthur. She jumped.”_  
_

In the two years that followed, with Arthur alternating between trailing Cobb around the world and lying low by himself in between jobs, Arthur could only think that it was Limbo that had made Mal lose her mind. What else could it have been? It had to be going too deep into the dream, into unconstructed dream space. Arthur had never had reason to doubt this, it’s not like Cobb had come out much better, there were bits of Cobb that weren’t right even before Mal had fallen.

It is entirely possible to lose your sense of reality, this Arthur also knows is true. Back in his military days, a few men in his platoon had found themselves confused, not knowing if they were still asleep. They had doubted reality and gone completely crazy. No one he knew of had ever ended up like Mal though. Mal was calm, collected, she was herself, only… wrong.

     

 _“I’ve done it before.”_

The thought hits him like a freight train. No. It couldn’t be.

     

 _“What is the most resilient parasite?”_

Fuck. Fucking Cobb. No.

     

 _“An idea.”_

“NO.”

Ariadne is working on the other side of the warehouse, surrounded by models and drawings of dreamscapes. She looks up at Arthur’s yell, and she knows. She knows he’s finally figured it out. She was afraid for when this day would come; she wishes she had been brave enough to tell him before now. She wishes she wasn’t alone with him in the warehouse.

When Cobb had insisted Ariadne accompany them to Sydney for the flight to Los Angeles, no one had questioned why. Even Arthur hadn’t asked why Cobb had, at the very last minute, told Saito they would need another seat on the plane. Ariadne wasn’t supposed to accompany the team out of Paris as a favor to Miles, but something had happened that night, before Arthur and Saito had arrived at the warehouse.

“Arthur?” She asks, hesitant, hoping that she’s wrong, hoping that he hasn’t figured out the truth.

Arthur snaps to attention, face screwed up in anger. Ariadne’s heart stops, because, below the rage, there’s hurt in his eyes. He knows she has played some part in this betrayal.

“When were you going to tell me?” His voice is cool, but there’s a tremor of the emotion on his face weaving into his words. Ariadne looks away. “You weren’t were you? You were just going to cover up for him? Just let him get away with what he did?”

He’s yelling now. He’s yelling and his chest is heaving, and at some point he’s crossed the room and stepped into Ariadne’s space. He steps back when he realizes how terrified she looks, the fact that she seems frozen from fear. His step quickens as he heads for the door, but not before grabbing his gun.

As the door shuts behind him, Ariadne finds herself able to move again, and dives for her cell phone. She knows exactly who to call.

“Eames!”

“Ariadne? What’s wrong? Where’s Arthur?”

“He’s… Oh, god, he’s gone after Cobb. I think…” She stops, her voice broken by sobs.

“What is going on, Ariadne? Why is Arthur after Cobb?”

“He’s going to kill him. He knows. He knows Cobb is the reason she’s dead.”

Eames, who had been tailing the mark’s brother, freezes. He hadn’t known, hadn’t even thought that Cobb would, that Cobb could…

“Ariadne, listen carefully. Where is Cobb? Right now, where exactly is he?”

“He went to talk to the client; he should still be at the offices they were meeting at. Eames, please, you have to do something.”

Eames hangs up; he needs to move, now. He drives faster and more carelessly than he ever has in reality, but it doesn’t seem to get him there as quickly as he wishes.

He fears he may be too late.

\---

Cobb huddles on the floor, blocking as many vital organs as he can with his own body. The air is thick with the smell of blood, his own.

     

 _“Arthur? What are you doing here?”  
     “You killed her! You son of a bitch, YOU KILLED HER.”_

Arthur hasn’t let up since arriving at the business complex, since dragging Cobb to an empty corner of the parking garage. It’s brutal, the things he’s doing to Cobb, he wasn’t trained by the best the military could offer for nothing, and he’s picked up just a bit of flair from Eames over the years.

“Arthur, please. Please, stop, let me explain!” Cobb’s been babbling apologies, pleas, offers to explain since the start, but it’s getting harder to beg, and he knows he’s in bad shape already. There is no way he can take much more of this, the blackness is already encroaching on his mind; the end is coming, he can feel it approaching.

Time seems to stretch; each blow is drawn out in time, when, suddenly, headlights skim over them.

“Arthur! Stop!” Eames is running. He barely stopped to put the car into park, desperate to stop Arthur before it’s too late.

Arthur’s looks up, but he’s not looking at Eames, it’s as if all he can see is his own rage. Cobb takes the distraction as an opportunity to inch away, as painful as the movement is, but Arthur reacts instantly, training his gun on Cobb without looking.

“Please, Arthur, stop.” Eames inches towards him, getting close enough to gently grab Arthur’s hand. He pulls the gun slowly from his grip.

It is as if the touch is a breaking point, and Arthur turns on Eames, landing a couple good blows before collapsing into Eames’ arms. The rage is gone, but the hurt is there, burning a hole through every corner of his mind, and he can’t hold it anymore, doesn’t want to hold it.

“He killed her, Eames. He killed her.” Arthur babbles as he allows Eames to hold him up. It’s the same thing over and over, “He killed her,” and Eames doesn’t know what to do, has never seen Arthur like this. Though hesitant to look away from the man in his arms, Eames chances a glance over at Cobb, and, fuck, he looks like he’s been run over by a freight train. Eames would laugh if he could find it in him to see humor at the moment. With a sigh, Eames maneuvers Arthur towards his car.

“Stay put, darling. Please.” His voice pleads a bit, and with the smallest nod, Arthur agrees.

“Cobb?” Eames moves across the parking lot and towers above the man. With a quick flick of his eyes over Cobb’s prone form, Eames take in the broken nose, shattered cheekbone, and the random pattern of bruises and lacerations that mar the other man’s face. There is sure to be even more, serious, damage in places he can’t see, covered by the, now blood soaked, suit. “Care to explain?”

“Tell Arthur… tell him… I’m sorry. Please.” Cobb is staring past Eames, toward the car where he knows Arthur is waiting. It’s all the he can manage, his injuries making anything else near impossible.

“No.” Eames pulls the cell phone out of Cobb’s pants pocket and dials 911. He can’t take Cobb to the hospital, not with Arthur sitting in the front seat of his car, but he can’t leave Cobb to die, either. This is the next best thing. When the dispatcher asks for his name, Eames quickly gives her directions, in his best American accent, then hangs up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that for you. An ambulance is on its way.”

Eames walks back to the car, and slides into the driver’s seat. Arthur is still staring straight ahead, stoic, but there’s a tension, as if he’s trying to contain the emotions that are trying to bubble back to the surface. Eames knows that if he hadn’t arrived when he had, Arthur would have killed Cobb, there’s no doubt in his mind. At this moment, seeing Arthur, sitting so still and broken, Eames decides that the most important thing is making sure Arthur is okay, though he doubts anything will be “okay” any time soon.

It’s easier than Eames expected to get Arthur back to his hotel room. The lack of resistance makes his blood run a little cold, to be honest. Arthur’s hands are covered in blood, and Eames eases them both into the tiny bathroom. Arthur gives him a look when Eames guides them both to the sink, turning the hot water on and letting it run.

“Look at your hands, love.” Arthur glances down, his face flickers with shock when he sees the blood. Cobb’s blood.

“Am I...”

“I think you’re fine, darling.” Eames lets the water wash the drying blood down the drain in a disturbing pink swirl, gently running fingers over the cracked skin of Arthur’s knuckles. Arthur hisses when Eames presses a washcloth into the tender skin, but doesn’t pull away.

“Are you hungry?” Arthur doesn’t answer, but Eames makes the decision to order room service anyway. “Take a shower. I’ll get us something to eat.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Arthur emerges from the bathroom, wearing only a towel hung low on his hips, and, had the circumstances been different, Eames would have choked on the ravioli he’s eating. He settles for letting his jaw drop just a little.

“Close your mouth, asshole.” Arthur finds Eames’ duffle bag in the closet, and pulls out a random pair of sweats and a t-shirt, before disappearing back into the bathroom. In that moment, Eames thinks that maybe things will be okay. That Arthur will be all right, and Eames won’t have to spend the night worrying about him.

Those thoughts leave him when Arthur comes back out of the bathroom. His hair still drying in the cool air and hanging loose around his face and the lost look on his face makes Arthur look more vulnerable than Eames has ever been allowed to see. Eames is about to offer up a plate of food when Arthur finally looks up. Oh, Eames thinks. Oh, no. He’s never seen that look in Arthur’s eyes.

“He killed her, Eames. He…he’s the reason she jumped.” Arthur’s voice is broken, raw, as if he’s been screaming for hours, “She’s... he… he fucking incepted her and…” Arthur’s voice cracks and he walks to the window, leaning his forehead again the cool glass. “She’s dead because of it.”

Eames is standing behind Arthur before either of them realize he’s moved, and gently places a hand on the small of his back, a soft, wordless sign of comfort. Eames doesn’t dare press for more contact, afraid to scare the broken man in front of him, willing to wait for Arthur to make the next move.

Eames doesn’t have to wait long, because suddenly Arthur turns, grabs fistfuls of Eames’ shirt, and pulls Eames flush to him, resting his forehead into Eames’ shoulder. They stay like that for a moment, Arthur’s sobs becoming rawer as he lets go. Eames holds on just as tightly, reaching his arms around Arthur to pull him closer, unwilling to lose this moment.

“Did you...” Arthur pulls back a little so he can look Eames in the eye. “Did you know?”

The question hits Eames with an almost physical force, and it must show on his face, because Arthur is speaking again.

“Just answer the question, Eames. Just answer the damn question.”

Eames lets go of Arthur, and moves to sit back on the bed, dropping his head into his hands in shock.

“You cannot be seriously asking me that, Arthur. You cannot honestly believe that I knew.”

“Answer the fucking question, Jonathan.”

It’s the use of his first name that finally makes Eames look up to meet Arthur’s pleading face, and he knows Arthur doesn’t really believe he knew, Arthur just needs to hear it from Eames. Arthur needs the confirmation that one person in his life, fuck, the most important person in his life, isn’t keeping secrets from him.

“I didn’t know, Arthur. Not until Ariadne called me.”

“Why did you stop me?” Arthur sits heavily on the bed next to Eames, body missing his usual quiet grace.

“You would have killed him. I couldn’t let you do something you would regret. I knew you’d never forgive yourself if you made those children orphans.”

Arthur leans his forehead against Eames’ shoulder, the full weight of what could have happened pressing down on him. He’d never meant to hurt his godchildren, _Mal’s children_ , like that. Never wanted that, but there were many things he’d never wanted to do. What did that make him?


	2. Chapter 2

Eames is up before Arthur the next morning, sunlight peeking in through an opening in the curtains, glaringly bright and landing directly on Eames’ face. Arthur is curled in the same position they fell into last night, snuggled into Eames’ side, head resting on Eames’ shoulder, and an arm tossed across his stomach.

It takes him a minute to realize what woke him, but Eames quickly processes that his phone is ringing shrilly from the pocket of the pants he wore yesterday. The Caller ID tells him it’s Ariadne, and he curses under his breath as he makes his way to the bathroom. He really does not feel like dealing with this yet.

“Ari, there better be a damn good reason you’re calling this early.”

“I just wanted to know what happened yesterday. I’ve been freaking out all night. Is Cobb okay? Where’s Arthur?”

Eames leans back against the sink, and rubs his free hand across his face. He had a lot of respect for Ariadne, and the way she handled herself on her first job. Not many, hell, no one, could say they’d helped perform inception on their first dream share job, but she had known about Mal. Knew about Mal and never said, kept the secret for Cobb when she should have said something, anything.

“Arthur is in the other room, sleeping. You’re lucky you didn’t wake him,” Eames can feel the beginning of a headache pushing in the space behind his eyes. “And I imagine Cobb is at the hospital.”

“Hospital? Shit. Is he going to be all right?”

“By the time I got there, Cobb was pretty roughed up. If you hadn’t called me when you did, I’m pretty sure he’d be dead.”

Ariadne makes a soft, shocked noise, and Eames snaps.

“What the hell were you thinking, Ariadne? Why the fuck would you keep that secret?”

There is too much silence from the other end of the phone, and Eames swears under his breath, it is far too early for this, and he’s in no mood to deal with Ariadne’s misplaced loyalties. Finally, the girl speaks.

“I didn’t think it was my place to say anything... I tried...”

“Tried? Tried what? Doesn’t seem like you tried very fucking hard!”

He’s gone too far and he knows it, but he can’t help himself anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Ariadne’s voice cracks, “I didn’t know until we dropped into Limbo, and it just… it never felt like the right time to tell anyone else. I’m sorry, please, tell Arthur I’m sorry.”

The line is silent on both ends, both content to let the other have time to just breathe.

“Eames?” He grunts in reply, trying to knead away the headache. “What was Mal like? Arthur said she was lovely.”

“Oh, she was. I’ve never met a woman so beautiful and full of spirit. I think that everyone who knew Mal was a bit in love with her.” He stops, momentarily overwhelmed by memories, “I still owe her a great debt, she introduced me to Arthur.” Eames hears footsteps outside the bathroom door. “I think Arthur’s up, Ari. I have to go. I think you should probably go and check in on Cobb later.”

“I will,” she answers as Eames ends the call. He opens the door and finds Arthur climbing back into bed.

Eames slides into the bed and runs his fingertips over Arthur’s bare arm. Arthur pushes himself up so his face is hovering next to Eames, and lets their lips touch briefly before whispering, “Morning,” and dropping his head down onto Eames’ shoulder.

“Morning, love. How long have you been up?”

Arthur shifts to look up at Eames through his eyelashes, his eyes heavy with sleep.

“Since you got out of bed,” Arthur admits. “What did Ariadne have to say?”

“She wanted to know if you were okay. You scared her pretty badly yesterday. She said to tell you she’s sorry.”

Arthur lets his head drop back down to Eames’ shoulder, and lets his fingers dance over Eames’ chest.

“I shouldn’t have scared her, but she knew, Eames.” Arthur is still hurting, and will be hurting for a while, Eames suspects. “She knew about Mal and didn’t say anything.”

“I know. I know.” Eames whispers softly as he pulls Arthur as close to him as he can in this position, trying to communicate as much as comfort as possible with the embrace. For someone so good with words, Eames is sometimes complete shit at dealing with his own emotions.

“I can’t forgive him, Eames.”

“I never expected you to, darling.”

They spend the day in bed, neither of them speaking. It’s lazy, and Arthur feels that nagging at him inside, but they need it. They need this time to just be each other’s anchor.

Arthur can’t help but wonder how this became his life. He had joined the army on a stupid teenage whim, been trained for special ops via the dream share program, and had entered the private sector four years later. Before that, well, Arthur had been normal, a nice kid from a nice family, hoping to see the world. So, he thinks again, how the hell did he get here?

As always with reality, he can trace himself back to the beginning, back to Mal. He was 22, fresh from his first, and only, tour in Afghanistan and honorably discharged with a few burns and shrapnel in his hip. He’d felt completely and utterly useless convalescing in his hospital bed until she had come into his life, a whirlwind of curled hair and perfumed dresses, with the offer of a job. She’d heard about his time in dream sharing, as well as his reputation as an intelligence officer, and wanted to know if he’d be willing to assist her and her father in a quick, and legal, extraction job.

 _“It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, Mr. Levi. I would not turn it down, were I you.”_

That is how he found himself in Paris two months later, metal cane in one hand, suitcase in the other, waiting for a train. His first job was flawless, as it often is when treading on the right side of legality, and he’d met Mallorie’s -

 _“Mal, Arthur, call me Mal. I feel like an old lady when you call me ‘ma’am’ and I loathe ‘Mallorie’”_

fiancé Dominic Cobb.

Three years later, Arthur is holding a tiny, chubby Phillipa Cobb when he’s reintroduced to Jonathan Eames. They had known each other in their military days, and had never really gotten along. There was always a tension, a competition, and quite honestly, a lot of unresolved sexual frustration.

It seemed that Eames had used the charm and charisma that had served him so well in the military to move up the ranks of the dream sharing world as well, though he toed the line of legality far more often than the Cobbs ever did. Arthur was hesitant about allowing Eames into their little family,

 _“Of course you are family, Chéri! I always wanted a little brother, and you are far more charming than a real one would ever be.”_

but quickly changed his mind the first time they did a practice run. Eames was amazing, the fluid shift of form and persona mesmerizing with the bit of sensuality that was pure Eames. Arthur knew then that Eames was going to be a problem for him, just not on the job.

They slept together after their seventh job together, two years after they had been reunited. Arthur told himself it was merely an attempt to scratch the itch caused by five or six years of unresolved sexual tension, and nothing more. He told himself that, but, and he didn’t dare say it at risk of the most obnoxious gloating known to man, the sex was fantastic and he wasn’t sure if he could give it up.

So, despite attempts to resist, Arthur found himself regularly fooling around with Eames for the next three months, too afraid to put a label on whatever it was that they had.

And then Mal jumped.

Two years later and here he is, curled into Eames’ side like the man has all the answers, and it doesn’t bother him. He wants Eames to comfort him, wants _Jonathan Eames_ to be the one taking the time to hold him, and that should scare the shit out of him, because this… thing… is so new, but it doesn’t, and that might be the scariest thing of all.

Night falls and Eames rises to make his way to the bathroom, when Arthur finally speaks.

“I need to go to the hospital tomorrow,” his voice is strained from crying and disuse, “I need to see him.”

Eames is hesitant, but he trusts Arthur’s judgment, trusts that Arthur knows exactly how far he can go right now, so he agrees.

\---

It’s the next morning when they decide to visit Dom. Arthur is silent the entire ride to the hospital, and, despite “silent and stoic” being Arthur’s default setting, it’s freaking Eames out to see him like this outside of a job. It’s eerily reminiscent of the other night, and Eames is suddenly doubting his decision to trust that Arthur knows his own limits. He doesn’t know if Arthur will be able to control himself when he faces Cobb. Apparently, he’s becoming an open book, because Arthur finds the need to reassure him.

“Stop worrying, Eames. I’m fine.” Arthur doesn’t sound angry, he doesn’t sound anything and so Eames decides to ignore him and continue to worry, at least until Eames feels Arthur’s give his thigh a reassuring squeeze. It doesn’t help settle Eames’ mind as much as it should, but it’s more like the Arthur he’s come know these last few months, so Eames places his hand on top of Arthur’s and laces their fingers together, deciding that maybe they can do this, together.

When they make it inside, reception points them in the direction of Cobb’s room, and Arthur’s grip on Eames’ hand tightens, though he looks perfectly collected in every other way. Eames runs his thumb over the back of Arthur’s hand, determined to keep him in one piece.

They’re outside the room far sooner than either of them expected, and the air holds an expectant weight. Arthur shakes himself, trying to keep his composure intact. Eames is starting to think this might have been a bad idea, but doesn’t let go of Arthur’s hand. They enter the room together.

Cobb looks better than he did in the parking structure, but not much. He’s laying on the bed, propped up just enough to see anyone who comes in, one eye is clearly swollen shut and he has bandages on his head, neck and arms. There’s a cast on his left arm and he’s clearly favoring some broken ribs on the same side. Eames is a little shocked at what Arthur is truly capable of, despite having witnessed his skills first hand in many a dream. Maybe that was it, reality tends to add a heaviness to things.

The look in Arthur’s eyes, it’s not exactly calm, but it’s not murderous rage either. Eames is reassured by this, but doesn’t stray too far from Arthur, just in case.

“Arthur.” Cobb’s voice is broken, desperate to explain.

“Don’t, Cobb. I don’t want to hear it, and I… I don’t think I can forgive you, no matter what excuse you have. Not for what happened to Mal.” Arthur’s voice breaks, and he stops, unwilling to show weakness at this moment.

“Please, Arthur.” Cobb is struggling to say the words, and Eames can only sit and listen and hope that Arthur can keep himself calm. But he’s there, and he’ll jump in if he has to, because he promised Arthur and he’s not going to go back on that. “Please let me explain, I’m so sorry.”

“We were exploring how deep into the subconscious we could go. We just kept building and creating, and we found Limbo. We built a world for ourselves down there. Buildings and art and a life, but she forgot. She forgot her life above and I had to get her to return, to wake up.”

“How?”

“I planted an idea. I planted that the world she knew was not real. That the lifetime we had lived together wasn’t real, that we had to get out. That we had to die to wake up.”

Cobb pauses to let Arthur process. He knows that Arthur has to know the significance of this idea, of this parasite.

“She looked at me like I was a fucking projection, Cobb. She didn’t think I was real!”

“I didn’t realize the idea would carry over into reality, I didn’t know that she would think we were in another level of the dream. She wouldn’t believe me when I told her it was real, that she was home. To her we were the only real ones, she thought James and Phillipa weren’t our real children.” Cobb turns away from Arthur and Eames, because he can’t stand the look on Arthur’s face. “If I had known…”

Cobb stops, his breath labored and uneven. His face is pale from the pain of exertion. He pulls in a few more breaths, and waits for Arthur to say something, anything.

“Arthur, please believe me when I say that I’m sorry.”

Eames sees the change firsts, there’s a renewed tension in Arthur’s shoulders. Cobb must sense it, too, because there’s fear in his eyes.

“You’re… sorry? You think that makes it better? That that makes it okay? That I’m just going to forgive you for killing her? She was my best friend! And you killed her and then lied to me! I followed you across the god-damned world, and all the while you fucking lied to me!”

Cobb is hanging his head. It hurts every part of his body to cry, but he’s sobbing. He can’t stop and Arthur is crying, too, weeping. Weeping for his loss. He’s lost his last connection to his best friend and it’s like someone is carving chunks from his flesh. Eames knows it’s time to intervene.

“Arthur, we should go.” He rests his hand on the small of Arthur’s back and gently guides him to the door. Arthur looks back.

“I’m sorry Cobb, but I can’t work with you, not now. You’re the best, but I can’t work with you anytime in the foreseeable future.”

“Arthur, please, what about Phillipa and James?”

“They have nothing to do with this. I’ll visit, but we are not friends. I hope you understand that I… I can’t be your friend. I just can’t”

Cobb looks crushed, but he nods his acceptance. There’s not much else he can do now.

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

Eames leans against the wall outside the door after Arthur snaps it closed. He doesn’t know where to go from here. There’s so much uncharted territory between he and Arthur that he can’t even imagine where to begin.

Words are unnecessary, it turns out, because Arthur simply turns to him and burrows his face into Eames’ shoulder.

“Take me home.”

“Anything for you, darling. Anything.” Eames replies, and, despite everything, he’s still mildly shocked to realize that he means it.

 _**Fin.** _


End file.
